Edge Of Summer
by ChibiRHM
Summary: A songfic to Vienna Teng's "Daughter"... The summer after fifth year, Ron and Hermione talk about Voldemort, fears, and how they feel about each other.


**Edge of Summer**

AN: Woo! I finished a Harry Potter fic. Who deserves a cookie? _I_ deserve a cookie. So, yeah, this is a Songfic to Vienna Teng's song _Daughter, which, incidentally, I do not own. Oh, and guess what? I don't own Harry Potter either._

Quelle surprise.

Also, in case it is unclear, this is set in the summer after fifth year.

_~..~_

_Well it's you, and it's me,   
me with a drink in my hand.  
The ice is tinkling like a wind chime,   
and late afternoon settles over the land.  
And you're talking about things  
interesting just slightly,   
and things that matter too much  
to say any way but lightly  
  
_

            The afternoon was winding to a close at the Burrow. It was the end to a very hot day, and the night was not shaping up to be much cooler. Mrs. Weasley, thoughtful as always, had noticed Ron and Hermione hanging around the living room practically wilting and had sent them outside with cool iced tea. If a Weasley were to look out at them, they would see a casual, familiar scene. Hermione was sitting upright against a tree, engrossed in _Standard Book of Spells, Grade Six, while Ron absentmindedly traced unseen lines on the back of her hand. "Hermione, what are you doing?" Ron asked finally, breaking the comfortable, lazy silence. _

            Hermione took a sip of her drink, the ice clinking gently against the glass. "I'm reading, Ron. I would think that that would be obvious."

            "Why?"

            "Because I need to be prepared for next year in case…" Hermione trailed off, not needing to finish the sentence. This time, the silence between the two was awkward.

            "Hermione…"  Ron had propped his head up on his elbow and was gazing at her with such intensity that she felt herself flush. "D'you reckon… d'you reckon that Voldemort will actually attack us? That we might need those spells? That we might… die?"

            Hermione took a very long, surprised look at Ron. "You said his name."

            "Yeah, I did."

            "Why?"

            "Because I reckon I'm not afraid anymore." Hermione sent him an incredulous look. "Okay, I am," admitted Ron sheepishly, "but not of the name, because I saw him, you know? I'm afraid of what he can do to us."

  
_Did you know you're so beautiful  
on the edge of summer?  
That years from now,   
I'll cry to remember  
how very close you were.  
Knowing this will I reach for you,   
knowing this will I reach for you  
the way you want me to._

            Hermione gazed at Ron.  _ I'm afraid of what he can do to us_… did he mean to the two of them, specifically, or was it a general us? The way he was avoiding her eyes in a very determined manner led her to think it was perhaps referring to the two of them, but the question was _why_. 

            The fact that he was concerned about them, just the two of them, was both endearing and, well, _Ron. _ Ron had never made it a secret that he worried about her well-being, perhaps even more then he did about Harry's.  Did he think she was, in some way, weaker because she was a girl? Or was he just being his noble self? Or maybe he really cared for her…

            _No,_ thought Hermione, _don't think like that. You can't think like that. This is all some girlish fancy that will pass. _ Looking at Ron thoughtfully, she thought for the billionth time since fourth year that he was really very attractive.  Not handsome but, well, beautiful, she supposed. Handsome was for people like Cedric Diggory. Cedric, yes, that was more along the lines of what they were talking about. _It's really kind of sad,_ thought Hermione, _that I have to think about someone who's dead to stop thinking about Ron._  Sighing, she lay down next to him in the cool grass, knowing there were no words that could comfort him; no words that could make Voldemort go away.

  
_Well it's time to be wise,   
wise in the ways of the heart,   
to come out from under the covers  
this voluntary state of apart.  
From the faces, oasis  
in this __Sahara__ of sorrow.  
These graces that hold me,   
it's from you that I borrow._

            Ron started slightly at Hermione's touch before clasping his hand around hers protectively.  "If it makes you feel any better, Ron, I'm terrified." She said softly. 

            "Well… um…" Ron propped himself up on his elbow, and his face was beginning to flush pink. "Maybe we can, um, be scared together…" He said this all in a very low voice. Hermione just looked confused. "What I mean is," Ron turned magenta by now, "er, I fancy you a lot Hermione, and well, I mean… Oh _bloody hell." He broke off, his face now the same violent shade of red as his hair. He scratched his head sheepishly, looking anywhere but at Hermione._

            Hermione decided now was the wrong time to reprimand Ron on swearing. "Ron, did you just ask me out?"

            "Erm…yes?"

            "Oh," said Hermione, blushing in turn, "well, yes, of course I will."

            "_Really?" Ron asked, looking as though Christmas had just come five months early. _

            "I just said yes, Ron."

            "Oh." Ron said, looking rather sheepish but grinning madly all the same. "And you don't think I'm stupid, for being afraid? Because I couldn't stand it if you or Harry or Ginny died, so you have to promise not to, okay?" He put his hand on Hermione's arm, as if to re-assure himself that she was not, in fact, dead. "Promise?"

            "Promise." Said Hermione firmly, resting her face in his chest, taking in his familiar scent of clean laundry, spice, dirt, and chocolate frogs.

            "That's good." Said Ron, putting an arm around her. "Because I might never speak to you again if you did kick the bucket."

_Did you know you're so beautiful  
on the edge of summer?  
That years from now,   
I'll cry to remember  
how very close you were.  
Knowing this will I reach for you,   
knowing this will I reach for you,   
the way you want me to_.

            The afternoon sky was turning a delicate pink as Harry and Ginny returned to the Burrow. Harry had opted for helping Ginny with the grocery shopping as opposed to hanging around the house for multiple reasons, first and foremost being the twins. The two of them had taken to apparating at the Burrow to try their newest products on their favorite guinea pig, Harry. Without the protection of Ron, Hermione, and then Ginny, he had decided to stay with Ginny. There was safety in numbers. The other reason was Ginny Weasley was very distracting.

            After three solid weeks spent between the equally depressing number four Privet Drive and 12 Grimauld Place, he had been more then ready to come to the Burrow and forget evil overlords and stop worrying for once. Dumbledore and the Ministry were taking care of the problem and he could, for once, relax. In fact, Harry was determined to have a normal holiday and let himself be distracted from everything. And Ginny Weasley was very helpful with that. Not only was she rather good looking, but she was an witty conversationalist. The two of them had just walked in to the Burrow's front yard when Ginny stopped mid-sentence explaining a new Chaser formation and stared at two forms in the grass.

            "Don't stop, Gin, that was really… Oh."  What it was, exactly, Ginny never found out, because both she and Harry were dumbstruck to see Ron holding Hermione close to him. That in itself wasn't as surprising as the fact that Hermione was asleep and smiling. 

            To a casual observer, it would look as though a teenaged couple were resting after a long day. A Weasley would notice Ron's ears were not even pink. In fact, he had a serene, content expression on, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to be napping next to one of his best friends. 

            To Ginny and Harry, however, it looked as if what was meant to be had finally happened.


End file.
